After living in the country for a week, the one thing I think we'll be desperately saddened at leaving is Mabel's Dairy Farm, just down the road.
It's run by the shy, but palpably good-hearted, Sid, who has rosy cherub cheeks, a happy knob of a a nose, worn denim overhauls, and a kind quiet demeanor, which all together reminds me of the caring-to-a-fault Matthew Cuthbert from Anne of Green Gables.
Morning, noon, and night we have wandered down to Sid's farm to put some money in the tin in exchange for a fresh liter of milk taken out of the refrigerator tucked inside the farm's wood shed; the sign promises the milk left the cow no more than 24 hours ago; taking a carton means you promise to leave 90p - it's all honour system. There are fresh eggs too!
It's refreshing to feel in-touch with and connected to the land and animals that provide for us. To walk down a dirt path and see the cows responsible for the milk you consume happily munching and mooing - to wave a 'hello' at the endearing farmer Sid who is responsible for your whole, semi, and a half a dozen eggs. You just don't get that at all in a city.
We'll miss it.